


the warmest hello

by miss_tatiana



Category: Spies Are Forever - Talkfine/Tin Can Brothers
Genre: M/M, a take on how curt met owen, but not enough of either to justify a higher rating, curt is the king of love at first sight, hhhhhhhhhh i love these gay spies, n a little bit of making out, set before the play obviously, theres a little bit of blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-19
Updated: 2018-03-19
Packaged: 2019-04-04 12:15:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14020035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miss_tatiana/pseuds/miss_tatiana
Summary: “So, what brings you here?” the man asked, smiling at the people they passed.“Well-” Curt started, but that didn’t seem right for some reason. All of a sudden, he couldn’t remember his cover. He couldn’t remember anything. “I- um- so- well, I-”“Oh,” the man said, and both the expression on his face and the tone of his voice so convincingly showed that Curt had just explained something interesting and involving. “I’m Owen, I’m terribly sorry for running into you.”-i just really wanted to write something lighthearted so this is my take on how curt and owen met, featuring curt being useless n gay and owen flirting to hide his insecurites





	the warmest hello

**Author's Note:**

> i just,,,, want them to be happy,,,,,

Curt had been on countless missions like this before. Someone has files. There’s going to be a stuck up reception or event that they’re attending. Wear fancy clothes, play a fancy cover, take the files, photograph them, return them before whoever it is even knows they’re gone. He could do one of these in his sleep. He was in the best suit Cynthia would let him wear, his hair was done, he had a smile on his face, and he was letting the din of the party - in the lobby of some ridiculously overpriced hotel this time - fill the space. He was completely in control of the situation, although he had a gun under his jacket if he were to need it. He knew which person had the files, and he almost knew where they were hidden in the hotel. He could be back at the agency before morning, if the night went according to plan. 

He might as well just talk to the target, he thought, and picked her out of the small group she was in conversation with. They were on the other side of the room, through the packed lobby. 

Before he could even start to move towards her, someone bumped into him. 

“Excuse me,” the man said, putting a hand on Curt’s waist to steady himself, and then bending down to pick up something that had fallen, perhaps something he had dropped. 

“Sorry,” Curt said, buttoning his suit jacket quickly, hoping to conceal his gun before the guy stood up again and praying that no one saw it. 

The man straightened up, a little flask in his hand. His eyes locked onto Curt’s, and he said, “excuse me,” again, his voice a little softer, a little more serious. He followed Curt’s gaze down to the flask. “It’s inappropriate, I know, but there’s never anything strong enough at these little get-togethers.” He tucked it away into his suit.

Curt wouldn’t describe the event as little or a get-together. He wanted to say something, but found his mind blank. 

The man gestured through the crowd, doing a small ‘shall we?’ nod. 

Curt began to walk slowly, so they could hold a conversation, in the direction that the man indicated. 

“So, what brings you here?” the man asked, smiling at the people they passed. 

“Well-” Curt started, but that didn’t seem right for some reason. All of a sudden, he couldn’t remember his cover. He couldn’t remember anything. “I- um- so- well, I-”

“Oh,” the man said, and both the expression on his face and the tone of his voice so convincingly showed that Curt had just explained something interesting and involving. “I’m Owen, I’m terribly sorry for running into you.” 

Curt nodded. Then he shook his head. “Uh, no, it’s nothing. No problem. Don’t worry about it. Who are you here with?”

“Myself,” Owen answered. “But I’m here for that beautiful woman there, Miss Gardener.” He gestured off towards the target. “Listen, so, she calls me up last night and I’m over in Chicago, and she says, Owen, dear, you simply have to come, I won’t know a soul there, right? And I ask her why she’s going and she says to impress a guy, and I ask her why then would she want me there with her. She says-” He broke off into a refined, controlled chuckle. “She says that she wouldn’t attend unless I did as well, so what have I done?” He looked at Curt. 

“You came.” Curt hoped that was the right thing to say. 

“Exactly, I’ve flown all the way from Chicago to be here, and I’m here, and she hasn’t talked to me all night.” Owen sighed. “Not a single word. I might have to catch her on her way to the restrooms.” 

The files. That’s where the files had to be. It had dawned on Curt sometime during Owen’s story that there was no way out of everyone here that there was someone else interested in his target, who just happened to walk into him. Cynthia had warned him that there may be spies from other agencies there, so he had to be “on your guard, all the time. You let your guard down and I will personally show up there, and punch you in the face.” He had let his guard down, though, if only for a second or two which he used up trying to get past the guy’s accent. His hand went instinctively to his gun. 

Owen put two fingers on Curt’s wrist and pushed it back down to his side. “Uh, I don’t think so.” He leaned close to Curt, mouth near Curt’s ear. “Let’s take this somewhere no one will get hurt.”

“Fine,” Curt muttered under his breath, eyes focused on Gardener, who was still oblivious of him through the crowds of people. Taking it somewhere no one would get hurt was spy for we both want the same thing, only one of us can get it, so let’s throw hands somewhere out of sight and whoever wins wins and whoever loses will be dead before the night is over. Curt reckoned he could take the guy, though. He seemed to have a desire to keep things civil and under the rug, which Curt could probably turn against him and fight dirty. 

“I have a room upstairs,” Owen was saying quietly. “We’ll figure shit out there. I didn’t get your name.” 

“I didn’t give it.” Curt clenched his jaw, but followed Owen into an elevator off the lobby all the same. Cynthia would skin him alive. He reached up to his ear, expecting a comm, but remembered he’d taken it off to appear more like a regular party-goer. She’d double skin him alive for that. 

Owen leaned against the wall of the elevator. “Didn’t want it to go like this,” he admitted. 

Curt agreed, but he wouldn't say it. He half wanted to throw a punch at Owen, half couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that Owen was so striking, so alluring, his accent so gentle, that if they weren’t both after the same information he easily could see himself following Owen to his room under different pretenses. 

“Things get out of hand sometimes, I suppose,” Owen said, rubbing his forehead. “You won’t tell me who you’re working for, will you.” It wasn’t even a question. 

“I’m not an idiot,” Curt fired back. 

“Fair.” Owen glared at the panel of elevator buttons until a ding ran through the space. “That’s us, love.”

Curt followed him out of the elevator and into a room. It was dark, and the curtains were drawn. Not the best place to get killed, he thought. He realized that he would never try to kill someone in a room like this. There was only one exit, and no good hiding spaces, and all the furnishings were white. The bed was too low, the frame almost sitting on the ground, no space to put a body under. Maybe Owen was dumber than he seemed. “So, what now?”

“Well, I think we’re both well aware of what we do now,” Owen rephrased, going over to the bedside table. When he turned back around, he was holding a pistol. 

Reflexively, just following his instincts, Curt pulled out his gun, and before he had time to think about it, he fired once. The first thing he noticed was that it was quieter than normal. Maybe something to do with the shape of the room. Then that the rug and walls around Owen, both white, were unstained. Then that his shirt was also unstained, and then that he was still standing. 

“I emptied your clip,” Owen said in explanation. “What did you think I dropped when I walked into you?”

“The flask, though,” said Curt, looking down at his gun, pulling the trigger a few times to make sure Owen wasn’t lying. 

“Up my sleeve.” Owen shrugged. 

“So you steal my bullets, you take me up here, and for what?” Curt was holding his gun as a bludgeoning weapon now, and backing towards the door. “To make a fool of me before you shoot me?”

Owen looked at Curt, then down at the gun in his hands, and then he laid it back down on the bedside table. 

“What the fuck is happening?” Curt demanded. 

Owen sat down on the bed. “My name is Owen Carvour, I work for MI6, and I was just neutralizing a threat. I wasn’t planning on becoming one, if that’s alright with you.”

“But- you told me- you brought me here-” Curt struggled to put together the pieces. He had it fixed in his mind that he was going into a fight, and now he wasn’t prepared for anything else. 

“What did you want me to do? You were about to pull out a gun in the middle of a lobby full of people, I had to get you out of there,” Owen said, exasperated. He touched his temple briefly, as if the idea was giving him a headache.

“You want the damn files, don’t you?” There had to be a reason behind this. No spy was ever just kind hearted when he or his agency weren’t getting anything out of it. 

Owen shrugged. “Yes, that too.” 

Curt dropped the gun and threw a punch. It landed solidly on Owen’s face. “Next time just come out and say it, alright? But you’re not going to get them. They belong to us.” 

“Christ,” Owen sighed, touching his upper lip and wincing when his fingers came away bloody. He held his hand against his nose, hoping to stop the blood flow. “Fuck,” he added quietly. “I explicitly didn’t hurt you, you realize that?”

Curt knew Owen was messing with him, trying to get him to feel bad. “Sure. I’ve still gotta do what I’ve gotta do.” 

“Fine. But here’s the truth,” Owen said sharply, getting up off the bed. “I was sent here to photograph the files. Photograph them, dumbass, two people can take pictures of the same thing. I disarmed you down in the lobby to make sure I’d get back safe. You’re here because I thought you were going to cause a panic down there.” He wiped his nose again, and the back of his hand came away red. “That’s it, I wasn’t trying to compete with you or whatever. God, Americans.” 

“I’m sorry,” said Curt, and he genuinely was. “But this information has to get into the right hands. Meaning I can’t let anyone have it, even if it’s just for pictures.”

Owen looked at him incredulously. “I have a gun, you don’t have-” 

Curt crossed between him and the table. “You don’t have a gun.” He felt around on the table behind him for the pistol, almost knocking over the lamp before getting it in his hand. “I won’t use it unless you try to stop me, but-”

Owen looked both anxious and regretful. “You know I have to try.”

Curt cocked the gun. “Then I’m-”

Owen grabbed the lapels of Curt’s suit and pulled him into a kiss. He slowly sat back down on the bed, and Curt, who followed him down but had nowhere to sit, was on his knees. 

Curt didn’t know what to do. He could taste Owen’s blood, smeared on his lip. He dropped the gun. 

Owen reached out and touched Curt’s lips, wiping some of the blood away. 

“What?” Curt breathed. 

Owen shook his head, looking just as shocked as Curt felt. He held a hand over his mouth, cleared his throat, then dropped his hands to the bed on either side of him. 

Almost dizzy, Curt kissed him again, only brave enough to do it because he thought Owen would stop him. When Owen didn’t, he froze up for a second, getting nervous before refusing to think about it and instead just doing what felt good. He unbuttoned Owen’s jacket, he let Owen kiss his neck. It was intoxicating, it was dangerous and gratifying. 

Owen was touching him, touching his arms and his shoulders and his chest. 

He didn’t know why this felt different from the other times he had been with people. Maybe because most of them were women, maybe because most of them were for missions. Maybe he was still scared and confused and just hyped up on adrenaline. He’d frightened himself out of being casually intimate, despite the persona he put on, telling himself that there was too much of a risk in it. He wasn’t wrong, but Owen’s nails were digging into his back through his shirt and it felt so good. 

When he looked down to try and undo the buttons of Owen’s dress shirt, Owen pressed a kiss to his forehead and something jumped in his chest that was different from the arousal that filled his body. It was gentler, and made him regret hitting Owen. 

There was an unspoken rule between them to not go further than kisses, the spy logic rising up in them and telling them it would be dumb as shit to do anything else while on a mission. So they kept themselves in check, to an extent. The clock ticked by on the little table beside them, counting the minutes they wasted on each other. 

Curt kissed Owen as hard as he knew how to kiss, and when Owen broke it he was still for a moment before opening his eyes and remembering where he was.

“Shit,” Owen whispered, leaning back just far enough to be out of reach. His breaths were bordering on ragged, and there was the hint of a smile on his face. 

“What?” Curt was still nervous, and questions began running through his mind the second Owen stopped kissing him. Was the door locked? What if Cynthia tried to get in contact with him and couldn’t because he’d left his comm in his own hotel room like an idiot? What if this was bullshit, and Owen was going to kill him?

“You look good,” Owen said, his voice soft. “I mean- you looked good all night, but… you look good right now.”

“Bullshit,” Curt replied, laughing gently. “Your blood is all over my face.”

Owen touched his nose. “Sorry. It’s not bleeding anymore. You do look good.” He got up, went to the bathroom, and came back with a clean face and a towel that had some blood stains on it. He tossed it to Curt and sat back down on the edge of the bed. 

“What time is it?” asked Curt, wiping off his face and neck. 

“Uh,” Owen checked the clock that sat on the bedside table. “Nearly midnight.”

Curt nodded. “And when you said all night-”

“I was keeping an eye on you since you arrived.” Owen shrugged. “A spy knows a spy. I knew I might have to look out for you.” 

“You thought I was cute?” Curt asked. 

“I didn’t say that.” 

“Look, I thought about the files, and-” Curt hadn’t thought about them at all. “-I don’t see the problem with both of us taking copies back, I mean… even if I had shot you or something MI6 would have gotten them eventually, right?”

“Probably. They’re not even that important, just collateral information,” Owen agreed. He laid down, pulling his feet up onto the bed, and sighed. His hands were crossed over his chest. He sat up suddenly. “I don’t want you to think- I didn’t kiss you so you’d give me the files, alright?”

“It’s okay.” Curt shrugged, buttoning up his shirt. “Even if you did, it’s okay.”

Owen laid back down. “I never got your name.”

“Curt,” said Curt. He wasn’t sure why he was being honest, he probably shouldn’t have. 

“Well, Curt,” Owen mused. “I’m sure recovering these files will be considerably easier with the two of us working at it instead of just going on our own. What do you say we do it together this once, and no one at the agencies are the wiser?”

“I…” Curt struggled to find a way to answer the question without saying something stupid, like that Owen’s personality and voice were so enchanting that he’d agree to pretty much anything. Which he would. “I don’t see a problem with that.” 

“Will you lay with me for a moment? Before we go down?” Owen tapped the bed beside him. 

Curt bit his lip. “I have shoes on.” 

“So do I,” Owen murmured. “I think they change the blankets on these things every day, it doesn’t really matter.”

He knew Owen was right. He looked at the clock again and his judgement said that they should get downstairs before the woman went back to her room, but he realized he might never get another chance to do this. It could very well be the last time he saw Owen. He got onto the bed and lied down next to him. 

They were side by side, looking up at the ceiling in silence

Owen turned to him after a few minutes and said, “You’re a gentleman.”

Curt laughed at that. “Not really, I just dress well.”

“Listen, please don’t tell anybody.”

“You think I’m going to? What would I-”

“No, if you do, I’ll end your-”

“Fuck, I won’t.” Curt sat up and glared down at him. “Why the hell would I? Do you think I want to get locked up somewhere?”

Owen sat as well, touching his temple in a way that was becoming almost familiar. “I’m… scared, alright? I never let myself do shit like this because I’m scared someone will-” He sighed, clenching his jaw. 

Curt cleared his throat, and felt like an asshole. “You’re a spy, you do dangerous things all the time, and this is what scares you?”

“Yes. Go figure.” Owen tapped his fingers on his knee, looking down. “Uh, should we-”

“Yeah, we should head down.” Curt cleared his throat again, looked over at Owen, who nodded, and got up. He grabbed the gun off the floor from where he’d dropped it, and then gave it back to Owen. 

Owen pulled his jacket back on and reached into a pocket, pulling out Curt’s clip, which he handed over. 

Curt looked down at it. “Seriously?”

“You gave me my gun back.” Owen straightened his jacket and leaned forwards over the bureau so he could look into the mirror and fix his hair. “I’m returning the favor.” It went unsaid that handing another spy a weapon was a sign of trust among agents. “Don’t worry about it.”

Curt was still looking at him. He was one of those people that it was difficult to not look at, it was turning out. 

“Curt, forget it.” Owen gave him a brief smile. 

Curt wouldn’t be forgetting it any time soon. He could almost hear Cynthia’s voice in his ear even without a comm, yelling at him to focus on the mission, but all he could think about was Owen. “Should we check her room first? Just in case?”

“Brilliant,” replied Owen, giving the sleeves of his suit jacket one last tug. “I was thinking the same thing. After you.” He nodded towards the door. 

Curt led the way into the hall, which was ringing vaguely with whispers of the noise from the party in the lobby. “I have an employee key,” he said, pulling it out from his pocket. “We can use it to get in and out without making noise or wasting time.”

“You’re joking me, old boy.” Owen laughed under his breath, showing Curt an identical key. “Well, let’s make this one quick.” 

They walked down the hallway and up the flight of stairs at the end of it, approaching the floor Gardener’s room was on. 

“Why, have you got a place to be?” Curt raised an eyebrow at Owen as they unlocked the woman’s door and slipped inside. 

“Only if you’re staying somewhere close,” Owen returned, pulling open all the drawers in her bureau and shuffling things around in them. “I’m not in the mood to travel far after this.”

Curt let out a breath, shocked by the ease with which Owen could think up and pull off a line like that. “Answer this for me, alright? What the hell do we think we’re doing?”

“Finding a file.” Owen moved on to check the woman’s carry on luggage, unpacked and sitting in the corner of the room. 

“Owen-”

“And then I was under the impression that you were going to take me home.” Owen looked up from the bags. “Is that what you wanted to hear?”

Curt turned the question over in his head. “Yes.” He bent down and looked under the bed. “Oh, look.” He pulled out a thick manilla file, full of information Cynthia was dying for. “Under the bed, classic.”

“And here I was thinking she’d put it in the bathrooms.” Owen crossed the room and looked down at the files. 

Curt had a sudden thought that Owen would just shoot him now, and he even felt an impulse to reach for his gun. He shoved that down, though, and held out his wrist, looking at his watch. He wished he’d remembered what Barb had been saying when she gave it to him so he could just use it quickly and send the photos back to the agency without having to think too hard on it. 

“Not here,” hissed Owen. “What if she comes back?”

“What, we’re taking them from the room?” That surprised Curt. 

“Would you rather she come back and find them missing with no suspect or come back and find the two of us messing with them? Owen asked. He had a point. 

“Alright, fair.” Curt picked the folder back up. 

They knocked on the door of a nearby room and when there was no answer, unlocked it with the staff key and photographed the files there. Then, they returned the files back where they’d been hidden in Gardener’s room and tried to make sure everything looked the way it was before they arrived. 

Curt figured out his watch, which broadcasted the pictures to Barb, who was waiting in a safehouse nearby. 

“That’s out of the way,” Owen commented, as they locked Gardener’s door again. “Where to now?”

“If I’m honest, I should get back and make a report to my boss,” Curt admitted. “As much as I want to stay, or… or take you somewhere, I probably can’t.” 

“Well,” Owen said, nodding. He squared his jaw and looked off at a poster hanging on the wall of the hallway. “Pity.” He huffed a little laugh. “You’re, uh… you’re really something else, Curt.” 

“I’m- I’m glad,” Curt tried, feeling pressed to say something. “I’m glad you stole my clip downstairs. I’m glad I didn’t shoot you.” Both statements were very true.

Owen smiled a bit. “You’re a good snog. And a great spy.”

“I gave up the information to another agency,” Curt replied, feeling self conscious. “A great spy wouldn’t do that.”

“We were in and out of there in what? Under five minutes?” Owen shrugged. “Sometimes being great means recognizing when you need to stop working alone. We make quite the team, Curt.” He held out a hand. 

They shook.

“We do,” Curt agreed. There was a deep, consuming longing in his chest to just stay. He’d never been affected by a person so quickly before, he barely knew Owen and he couldn’t get enough of him. It was dangerous, but he felt like there could be some promise in it. 

“I suppose I’ll catch you next time, then,” Owen said, like it could be expected that they’d just run into one another again, that their mission assignments would coincide like they did on this one. 

“I want to see you again,” Curt said quickly, knowing that since the agency had received the photos they were probably expecting him back not long after. “I feel like- I need to see you again.”

“This is insane,” breathed Owen, but he had the biggest smile Curt had seen him with yet on his face. “Alright, fuck it.” He pulled a card out of his breast pocket and slid it into Curt’s. “Feel free to be in touch.”

Curt put his hand over his pocket, and even though he obviously couldn’t feel the card there, he could almost feel the ghost of Owen’s fingers on his chest.

“No-” Owen corrected himself, lowering his voice even though they were all alone in the hallway. “Please be in touch.”

Curt had to kiss him- he couldn’t not kiss him after that. It was just a little kiss, and it felt so normal that he found it hard to believe he hadn’t known Owen for much longer than a night. “I will be.”

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” Owen asked. 

“Yes. I’ll see you later,” Curt promised. He headed off down the hallway, wondering how long ago Barb expected him to be back at the safehouse. He turned to look at Owen one last time. 

Owen nodded once, and held up a hand in farewell. 

Curt copied the gesture before turning a corner and passing out of view. 

He made it out of the hotel, and back to the safehouse, and through Barb’s pestering and worrying. Of course, he couldn’t think of anything but Owen. Not just how charming he was, or how smart and handsome he was, or how cute his accent was, but about what they’d done together, and what Owen had said afterwards. They’d completed a mission that should have taken half an hour at least in a couple of minutes. That was impossible, it was huge.  _ Sometimes being great means recognizing when you need to stop working alone.  _ Relations between the U.S. and England were alright at the moment. Cynthia surely wouldn’t object to having someone as talented as Owen along, just when it was an advantage.  _ We make quite the team, Curt. _

Curt smiled. He was alive, he was excited about his prospects with the agency, he was looking forwards to things ahead of him. He was buzzing with a secret, with an I won’t tell if you don’t kind of energy that was too strong to ignore. He was on fire with a little bit of promise, with a little bit of love, and with the possibility of saving the world with a partner.

**Author's Note:**

> anyways can you believe they lived happily ever after???? act 2 part 6??? i dont know her


End file.
